


Sailor Moon Gold: Ten Minutes of Omake

by smokingbomber



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Character Development, Dirty Talk, Fluff, M/M, Mamoru is demi and no one can tell me otherwise, Omake, Zoisite is pan are you kidding me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingbomber/pseuds/smokingbomber
Summary: What if in the SMG what-if, Zoisite seduced Mamoru over breakfast?? :D :D





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storyofthedoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyofthedoor/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sailor Moon Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9444770) by [smokingbomber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingbomber/pseuds/smokingbomber). 



> So, @storyofthedoor was really agitating for some smexy Mamo/Zoi in Sailor Moon Gold, but that’s not the kind of story it is? I mean there might be some poly shipping in there later, but there’s probably just mostly going to be longing gazes and girls elbowing each other and waggling their eyebrows because this is so first season. But whatever. I wrote an alternate version of the ending of the breakfast scene in issue 2. It is a bit steamy and has some dirty talk but turned into fairly sexy character-development fluff instead of super-pr0n because I’m me. :/

"Jeez, you ate that fast," said Mamoru, blinking at Zoisite's empty plate and full mouth. It'd been a relief to finally start eating and pretend the emotional dam had never broken, but the petite boy across from him wasn't sticking with the plan. The, you know, 'eat food and avoid talking and manage not to be awkward in the process of being silent' plan.

He was just staring at Mamoru, his green eyes glittering and wide, considering him, maybe analyzing. "Uh, are you still hungry?" Mamoru asked. But hadn't they got past this? This calculation, this trying to read ulterior motives-- wasn't that what the emotional Thing was about, not even ten minutes prior? 

Mamoru felt tired. He wanted this kid close to him, safe, he wanted to keep him out of the Dark Kingdom's hands, he wanted him to be okay, to be happy, to have a good real life-- but he wasn't sure if he could deal with the feels rollercoaster he sensed coming his way.

And Mars had tied him to the tracks, practically twirling her moustache. 

And normally he'd be in school by now, and his apartment would be empty, and when he came home with his books it would still be empty, a safe haven from the rest of the world. A place where no one else's emotions could get on him, could overwhelm him; a place where he could savor the quiet and be assured that no one would interrupt him. No one would intrude. No one would ever be there to bother him-- no one would ever look for his attention there-- no one would ever accidentally touch him, no one would touch him...

There must have been something showing on the older boy's face that gave something away-- but whatever it gave away, he wasn't even aware of it. So Mamoru was surprised when Zoisite got up and came around the kitchen table, motions reserved and delicate, but not at all tentative. There was a self-assuredness here that Mamoru'd only seen in the other boy when he stood and acted in concert with his brothers, or when Mamoru'd initially brought Sailor Moon to the fight and Zoisite had been rallying for another attack--

Mamoru's eyes were wide, and he felt like he couldn't move. Zoisite didn't want to be his enemy-- he had said he wanted to stay here with him-- and if he'd changed his mind, or if something else had changed it for him, then Mamoru couldn't bring himself to stop him. The blond could just kill him now, no fuss, if that was what he aimed to do.

With one slender hand extended, Zoisite's beautiful fingers curled around the edge of Mamoru's jaw gently, and the instant of contact brought with it a starburst of ache and an external reflection of his own loneliness, and Zoisite's desperate urge to brush it all away and drown out the fact that it had ever been there. From the slight blond poured forth a fiery rush of firm and fierce desire, a devotion Zoisite couldn't let himself examine yet, but the willingness to satisfy it.

The sixteen-year-old empath who'd avoided touch for so long couldn't tell, couldn't sort out, which emotions were his own and which belonged to Zoisite. He couldn't find himself in the onslaught, in the tidal wave. This was a lot more _everything_ than a rollercoaster, but Zoisite's startling disregard for Mamoru's personal space -- physical and mental -- was also somehow not unwelcome, not distressing. He was all right. He didn't know who he was, but that wasn't anything new. That, too, was something reflected, something shared.

Somewhere in that eternal second, Mamoru had forgotten the mechanics of breathing, had lost them in a field of sparkling emerald that held his soul in its hands and his heart in his own throat. There was something else there, something that brought heat to his face and adrenaline to his blood, jangling his nerves with a mixture of fear and excitement like--

Abruptly Mamoru was being kissed.

Part of him still didn't know where he ended and Zoisite began, but part of him was aware of the sharp divide in experience and awareness -- Zoi knew very well what he was doing, even if he didn't know all of the how or why he did, and Zoi knew how to read Mamoru's reactions like a book; Mamoru... this was his first kiss. Zoisite had stolen something after all.

Mamoru couldn't have made himself mind if he'd tried.

Zoisite's hand still cupped his jaw, tilting his chin up; a momentary flicker of amusement laced itself through the wash of Zoisite's feelings, since Mamoru was sitting down he _could_ tilt his chin up instead of craning his own neck for a kiss; the smaller boy's other hand snaked up the front of Mamoru's dress shirt and over his collar, briefly, before traveling to the back of his head and weaving fingers through his hair, holding his head neatly in place. All the while, Mamoru's heart pounded and he didn't know what to do with his hands; they fluttered uselessly before one came to rest lightly on Zoisite's arm.

All the while, Zoisite's tongue was in his mouth, tasting him, tasting the coffee and chocolate and roses of his scent even beyond his warm bright humanity -- Mamoru was suddenly glad he'd had more coffee than breakfast, himself -- and with the bubbling rise of that thought, Zoisite's mood flared hot with indignation and his mouth was more insistent, and the hand that'd been on Mamoru's chin dropped to take hold of the high schooler's inexplicable neck badge, gripping it and twisting, pulling Mamoru against his mouth _hard_. Pay attention to _me_ , Zoisite demanded wordlessly.

The force and gentle physicality of the demand made Mamoru capitulate quickly, and much more easily than Zoisite had honestly expected, and Mamoru would be surprised when he thought about it later--

\--for now, there weren't any thoughts, there was only the vastness of Mamoru's full attention abruptly trained entirely on Zoisite, on the sensation of Zoisite, on Zoisite's feelings, and there was Mamoru reacting solely to him, to his actions. He melted into the kiss, opening up under the pretty General's demanding lips and letting him in. The permission was accompanied by Mamoru's hands finally both settling on Zoisite's hips, which in turn resulted in Mamoru being aware -- through the contact in the kiss itself, unrelenting -- of what Zoisite wanted him to do with those strong and capable hands.

It seemed reasonable to oblige, since Zoisite was devouring his mouth so lovingly, since Zoisite was in the process of layering it, over and over, into Mamoru's head that contact didn't have to be negative, didn't have to be full of things Mamoru would rather not know people thought about him. It seemed utterly natural to oblige, since Zoisite wanted to make him happy, wanted to make him feel loved and comforted and taken care of. He was helping Zoisite take care of him-- and that made it all right to be taken care of.

So Mamoru's hands slid down from Zoisite's hips and behind him, cupping his buttocks; he stood, lifting Zoisite along with him -- tethered also by the hand still firmly gripping his ridiculous medal

(but it's not ridiculous, is it? It has four points and a center, a circular center that's hollow, that's empty--)

and by the hand knotted in his hair, mouth firmly and fully spoken for by Zoisite's own. Once Mamoru was on his feet, holding Zoisite up against him, the other boy wrapped his legs around Mamoru's waist and did his damndest to distract Mamoru away from balking at the hardness suddenly pressed against his stomach. He bit Mamoru's lower lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, which shot a truly surprising amount of shocked pleasure through the black-haired high-schooler: Mamoru was incredibly turned on by something he had no idea was a turn-on, and Zoisite was incredibly pleased by the hard-on growing beneath his rear, so helpfully supported by a hand cupping each of his cheeks.

That meant, of course, that all SORTS of images began to flood through Zoisite's mind and spill into Mamoru's, and Mamoru found himself pretty damn effectively overwhelmed -- he knew he was getting harder by the second, and he was trying to work out how he was able to feel like this when he knew he loved Usagi, but he was also feeling everything Zoisite was feeling and he was still having trouble sorting out what was his own from what was Zoisite's--

\--and Zoisite drew his mouth away from Mamoru's and trailed his lips and the tip of his tongue across the side of Mamoru's face, leaving a burning line of sensation. His breath was hot against Mamoru's ear as he whispered, barely audible, "But you love me too. I can feel it. I can feel how much you want me safe and happy. And I want you safe and happy too. And I also want to tie you down with your stupid suspenders and take your dick in my mouth and make you cum down my throat while you try to keep quiet so that the neighbors don't hear."

It had the desired effect: the words were even better than the images Zoisite was already giving him, because they made Mamoru imagine it on his own, and the thrill that ran through him was deliciously embarrassing. His face was so red; he swallowed while Zoisite smiled against the back of his jawline and wriggled against his hips and groin.

Without even thinking about it, Mamoru started carrying him back toward his bedroom. Zoisite rewarded this by playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and whispering again, nuzzled against his cheek and neck, "You're a big boy. I'm sure you've gotten yourself off before, thinking about those Senshi you fight with and their short skirts and long, long legs-- you must have lube. And you must be as hopeful as any other guy, you must have condoms-- wouldn't you like it if after you came in my throat, I prepared myself just for you, while you watched, and then came back over and straddled you--? And sat down so slowly, so achingly slowly, on your rock-hard cock and you watched it disappear inside me while you felt every single inch I took in--?"

Mamoru was pretty sure he was going to go insane-- and then he flushed an even brighter red as Zoisite picked up on his panic, on his actual absolute lack of lube and condoms, and mentally flailed wildly at not being able to provide what was necessary for what Zoisite was describing-- and at the idea of Zoisite knowing, intimately, how little he actually thought about anything like this...

...and Zoisite laughed, and for a second that made it ten million times worse; Zoisite was laughing at him, and he'd never know an end to the humiliation--

\--but it was a delighted laugh, and then it gentled, and then all he felt from Zoisite was a kind of shocked awe as the smaller teenager clung to him even more tightly. There was some kind of knowledge floating at the forefront of the strawberry blond's mind, some kind of understanding, that was causing this reaction-- and Mamoru grasped for it desperately.

_Demi._ Demisexual?

Only attracted to someone if there's already a deep emotional bond in place.

He'd never been attracted to anyone before Usagi, before Sailor Moon-- and then he was so sure he already knew her, had known her before somehow, and he was head over heels for her. He'd briefly thought a long while ago, during some locker room conversation between classmates about sex and about how hot this or that girl or pop idol was, that maybe he was into guys because he just couldn't understand what the big deal was-- but after thinking about that, he realized he didn't especially find any guys attractive either. But now Zoisite was able to awaken all this in him like setting fire to a box of dynamite, and...

...he felt like he already knew him, felt like he'd known him before, that he was so familiar. And in both cases, with Usagi and with Zoisite, the feeling was returned. They knew him too. They already knew him. And they loved him as he was.

And that shock from Zoisite-- the awe the boy was feeling-- was that Mamoru felt strongly enough about him that Zoi _was_ able to play his body like a violin.

"It's all right," murmured Zoisite in his ear as Mamoru pushed the bedroom door open with one foot, "you're fine, it's all right. You don't have to be embarrassed-- don't ever be embarrassed with me. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to, either. I'm so happy just knowing--"

Mamoru held him tighter, sliding his arms up from Zoisite's bottom and around his back, and buried his face in that slender neck and shoulder; Zoi, in turn, started to slide his legs down, but Mamoru shook his head emphatically, and the smaller teenager was puzzled for a second before he got the image of what Mamoru intended.

He just wanted to sit down and still hold him. He wasn't ready to do all the things that Zoisite had suggested-- not yet. His body was certainly telling him he was, but he knew it was too much, too fast, too soon. He had to let his emotions catch up. He was finally starting to be able to sort those out, and he clung to them as his own, and this time--

\--this time Zoisite let him, let himself settle down, let himself be held, and held Mamoru in turn. 

And when they sat down on the edge of the bed, Zoisite drew himself in, made himself smaller -- actually smaller; he could do that, that was something he could do -- and curled up in Mamoru's lap and threaded his arm through one of the ones around him. He radiated a contentment that was at once alien to him and so familiar, just like so much of this morning had been.

Mamoru, for his part, drank in that contentment and let it help him settle. Everything settled. They could have these moments, they could steal them out of time and just be happy, for once.

And maybe later they could go shopping, too.


End file.
